


Until We Bleed

by Anorkie



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Boys In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jealousy, M/M, Toxic Masculinity, Underage Sex, more hurt than comfort tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:07:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29290344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anorkie/pseuds/Anorkie
Summary: By the time the sun is up, Reiner and Bertholdt will be on opposite sides of the wall.
Relationships: Reiner Braun/Bertolt Hoover
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	Until We Bleed

**Author's Note:**

> I’m in love with their dynamic. Really, these two get slept on...

“Keep going.”

Those words come out of Berthold’s mouth, but honestly, he’s exhausted. Sprawled out on the floor of some caved-in house, they are two hours into whatever _this_ is. He doesn’t want to call it sex, unless sex is supposed to be this frustrating and miserable. He’s hard, so is Reiner, but neither of them can come no matter how hard they try to, which is stupid, right? They’re teenage boys. This is what teenage boys do best, yet Bertholdt wants to break down sobbing because forcing an orgasm shouldn’t feel like the end of the world.

Reiner gives his hand a break and uses his mouth instead. Bertholdt groans uncomfortably but holds Reiner’s head in place with his legs all the same. He’s wet all over, mostly from Reiner’s spit, which has dried and been reapplied too many times to help with the friction anymore. Everything’s raw, everything’s red, it doesn’t matter. Bertholdt whines, because he doesn’t care about being shy anymore. He wails, and Reiner has gotten used to it, because he stopped asking if he was hurting him over an hour ago.

They need to meet up with Zeke soon. By the time the sun is up, they will be on opposite sides of the wall, and after that… A lot of people are going to die by their hands. Bertholdt followed his friends here, to this horrible place, where they have sweat and cried and bled together, to make it happen. They are nearing the climax of their mission, they get to go _home_ after this, might even get Annie back, so why can he hear his heart in his ears, every trembling beat of it?

“Bertholdt, relax. Hey,” Reiner pipes up, freeing himself from the monstrous strength of Bertholdt’s calves. He coughs a couple times to catch his breath before gracelessly rolling onto his back. 

They were in such a rush to touch each other, they didn’t even try to find a bed. There was no reason why they chose this house out of the countless others, either. A lot of these buildings are dangerous, eager to collapse and take what little life remains in Shiganshina, but Bertholdt isn't worried about being crushed by debris. He led Reiner here, and all he could think about was pulling him in by his waistband and unbuttoning his shirt—which he did, by the way. He gave head for the first time ever, but Reiner didn't come, which seemed impossible, even if he gave the worst head ever. When it was Reiner's turn to try, he was met with similar, disappointing results. 

"You're tense," Reiner mutters into his hand.

He rests his other hand on Bertholdt’s stomach, as Bertholdt watches the defeated rise and fall of Reiner’s chest.

“I’m so tired.” Reiner looks vacantly into the gigantic hole in the roof. 

Guilt punches Bertholdt in the gut. He sits up. Detaching himself from the hardwood actually hurts after sweating in one place for so long. “I’m sorry.”

“Not what I meant,” Reiner grunts. “Lie back down.”

Bertholdt pauses before settling on a drier part of the floor. A headache has been lingering behind his eyes, slowly worsening since they started. He is dehydrated, and his dehydrated brain convinces him leaving Reiner’s side in search of water is a jerk move, like _goodbye and_ _thanks for edging me for two hours._ He squeezes his eyes shut and swears he can see flecks of color in the darkness—flickering, radiant purples and blues fixed like constellations.

He goes over the plan in his head again. It’s a good plan, but plans fail all the time, regardless of preparation, regardless of confidence, regardless of anything. Zeke didn’t make any promises, but he said _you’ll meet up with Reiner later_ , among many other things, but he said that, and it stuck. Honestly, it was enough to satisfy Bertholdt in that moment. With Reiner, he could accomplish anything. He could squash his old friends and paint the walls with their guts, and he wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t feel anything for them. He won’t.

Likewise, should things go south, he doesn’t expect mercy. That’s the scary part, isn’t it? He has survived by the skin of his teeth, by taking advantage of their hesitation to cut him down. Well, most of them. Mikasa momentarily held back, but her intention was clear: summary execution by decapitation. There’s no better way to kill a Titan, especially if that Titan is a traitor who once shared rations with you. She will be frothing from the mouth the next time she lays eyes on him, and everyone will cheer her on. She will try to decapitate him again, but not before making him watch her do the same to Reiner. Revenge, for all they put Eren and her friends through. _Death to the traitors,_ will be chanted as their blood soaks into a land so far from home. 

Reiner is there when he opens his eyes, hovering over him with a wound up jaw. 

“Hey,” Bertholdt mumbles, like he’s been gone a long time. He reaches for his friend’s biceps, gently squeezing with both hands and working his way up to that handsome face, where he stops to caress it. 

“Hi.” Reiner sighs, nuzzling his face into Bertholdt's hands. It gives him butterflies, seeing Reiner like this. Honestly, it makes his dick jump. This view should be reserved for some future girlfriend back at home, not him. 

"Maybe"—he doesn't want to say it—"we should stop. Get some sleep."

Reiner’s lip twitches in that way it sometimes does. He retracts, slow blinking under a pair of furrowed brows, like he’s trying to decide on something. "Is that what you want?" 

There are worse things than not getting off with your best friend on the eve of what will be a massacre. Right, because they are going to slaughter them and not the other way around. Looking up at Reiner, he wants to believe that, but Reiner is looking more and more unsure of himself these days.

Even so, he doesn’t think anyone else could make him feel so small. Reiner is the shorter one, sure, but he has always been bigger. Wider shoulders, a heavier step. Stronger. He is the stronger one. Bertholdt isn’t afraid to admit that now. Once, something existed within him that wanted to surpass his best friend, but it has cowered in the same shadow that birthed it. He makes the most sense tagging along from the rear. Not because he’s a good listener—he’s not—but because his voice was not made to be taken seriously. Not like Reiner’s, which has a commanding, respectable tone. He is a natural born leader. He is everything a man should aspire to be. That’s what Bertholdt sees when he sees Reiner Braun: a man, not yet grown into himself but overflowing with potential. Their recent hardships have threatened his character, but he will persevere, because he has to. One of them has to.

It doesn’t matter anymore, but a part of him thought if he could get Reiner off first, he could measure up to him in some stupid way.

Reiner is still waiting for an answer.

“This is stupid,” is Bertholdt’s begrudging response. “We need to rest. We don’t have a lot of time.”

“We don’t have a lot of time,” Reiner agrees. Without warning, he snatches Bertholdt's wrists and yanks him upward into a kiss. Bertholdt resists at first, accidentally scraping the fragile skin of Reiner’s lips with his teeth before settling into the firm pressure of his mouth. The suddenness of the action panics him, as well as the intimacy of it. He can’t explain how a kiss is more intimate than a blowjob, but it is. It scares him, how good it feels, because this thing they’re doing isn’t supposed to mean anything. 

Reiner is a good kisser. Not that Bertholdt has anyone to compare him to, but everything he does feels nice, so he must be good. He cradles his head and moans into his mouth, how could that not feel good? Bertholdt reaches in between them, blindly groping his friend’s chest and belly until he works up the courage to dip lower. It’s hard to ignore his erection, the way it’s weeping and pressing right up against him, so he takes it into his hand. Reiner seizes up to the touch, squeezing the base of Bertholdt’s skull and panting dryly into his mouth.

“You don’t want me to stop,” he says with a chuckle, so self-assured and a little delirious. He mumbles something incoherent as he begins to shallowly thrust into Bertholdt’s hand. Bertholdt lets it happen, transfixed by the blissed out expression on Reiner’s face. His eyes have fluttered to a close, which is convenient, because Bertholdt wouldn’t have the guts to watch him otherwise. 

Bertholdt rolls his hips in a slight upward motion, imagining what it would be like to be inside of Reiner. He imagines the sensation and stops there, because the thought alone, coupled with what’s happening on top of him, sends him reeling. He arches and nearly headbutts Reiner, who takes the outburst in stride by grabbing Bertholdt by the shoulders and using his momentum to lift him. He ends up in a sitting position, dazed.

Reiner’s eyes are open now. “Look at me,” he says, suddenly serious. Bertholdt does as instructed, only faltering when he feels Reiner’s hand encompass his own, and when their hands close around their— _oh._

Like always, he lets Reiner take the lead. He is functionally useless as he allows his hand to be manipulated, up and down, slowed to a near perfect pace. It feels like electricity, pulsing pleasantly from their fingertips to their cockheads. A dull ache emerges, sweetly swelling with every new stroke. His jaw tightens in an effort to pipe the fuck down. He wants to scream, in all honesty, the way he did earlier when the person he reveres most knelt between his legs for the first time. Alas, he’s working through the embarrassment all over again. 

“You’re fucking sexy,” Reiner says under his breath. Bertholdt hides his face in the crook of Reiner’s neck. He can’t handle that. He breathes carefully through his nose, unwilling to reveal what that does to him.

A few tugs later and he feels it happening—a tremor, highlighted by a warm rush of fluid on his belly. 

He goes stiff before holding back a scream that rattles his bones from the inside out. He feels Reiner, palming the sweat of his nape, entirely too affectionate as he tries to coax the miserable sound out of him. Instead, Bertholdt expresses himself by smashing his mouth against his friend’s shoulder, claiming a bit of skin from the force of his jaw. He doesn’t expect to be pulled in tighter, but maybe he does. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Fuck.” Reiner’s voice trembles. Bertholdt doesn’t mull over it until he feels something wet warming his ear. 

When they were kids, seeing Reiner cry was cause for alarm, because unlike Bertholdt, Reiner always had a good reason to cry. It meant something was horribly wrong, and it was only a matter of time before whatever had scared him so bad came for the both of them. 

The end is in sight, crawling towards them like a starved beast. The sun will be up soon, the urgency should be overwhelming, but Bertholdt refuses to spill his guts, tragically in love with the possibility there will be more time to stave off his feelings later, maybe forever.

They collapse against each other and somehow make it to the floor without a head injury. Reiner rubs small circles into Bertholdt’s back until they doze off together, sending him off into a restless sleep.

The beginnings of dawn stretch across the ruined landscape of Shiganshina, arriving at their little house. Bertholdt awakes to the sound of water sloshing. He expects to find himself uncomfortably positioned on the hardwood, but his position is relatively unchanged from last night. The only difference is Reiner, who sits a short distance away as he wrings a rag from a bucket of water. He extends it to Bertholdt.

While he washes, Reiner dips a ceramic bowl into the bucket and places it off to the side. He says, “Don’t let me distract you today.”

The words settle uncomfortably in the pit of Bertholdt’s stomach. 

“We’ll talk about this later, so put it out of your mind while you’re out there. Promise me you’ll do that.” He’s worried. The sentiment should be sweet, but it leaves a bad taste on Bertholdt’s tongue.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Reiner snaps to attention, but Bertholdt refuses to make eye contact, pretending to care more about cleaning the leftover gunk between his legs. He feels himself being watched as he gathers his crumpled clothes from the floor and begins to dress, adjusting the straps of his ODM gear accordingly. One more time, he reviews the plan in his head.

Reiner clears his throat. “Right,” he says. The speed in which he gets on board with things is admirable. Right, they will not be discussing _this_ in the future. They are just two scared boys in a shitty situation, blowing off some steam. Right.

It’s a bad plan, Bertholdt ultimately decides. There are a million holes, and a million ways to fuck it up. He looks to Reiner, handsome Reiner, chest puffing up in his signature green button-up, and sees it falling apart all around him. 

Bertholdt crouches in front of Reiner so they are at eye level, and he reaches for the set aside bowl of water. A short, deliberate pause permeates the silence before it is replaced by harsh gulping noises. His throat painfully contracts as he chugs the water, all while maintaining eye contact with Reiner, like he’s still trying to prove something. Some of it spills down his collar, leaving blotches that turn his white shirt transparent. 

They go their separate ways.


End file.
